Saelkor cleared his throat. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a rare display of unease. "My lord," he said.
Varon looked at him. "Speak."
Saelkor hesitated for a moment. "I ask your permission first. What I'm about to say may not sit well."
Varon nodded. "Go ahead, Saelkor."
Saelkor chose his words carefully. "The Wanderer Witch…I know her kind. They do nothing willingly without first naming a price. Something that cannot be bought with gold. I have seen men bargain with wanderer witches, and it rarely ends well for them."
Varon's lips curved into a faint smile. "I know. The price has already been paid. A long time ago."
There was no hesitation in his voice—no sign of doubt. Varon pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. With a gesture of his hand, he indicated for Saelkor to do the same. The general moved to the chair across from him and sat, his back straight and hands resting on the table.
